


forgiveness (can you imagine)

by imposterhuman



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (hinted but its there), BAMF Tony Stark, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes-centric, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Not Steve Friendly, Team Iron Man, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Is a Good Bro, unapologetically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 17:54:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17585558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imposterhuman/pseuds/imposterhuman
Summary: bucky gets called back to the states so the man whose parents he killed can help him fix what has been unmadehe never expected tony stark's massive capacity for forgiveness to remake himEDIT: comments moderated because of trolls





	forgiveness (can you imagine)

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be 1k about buckys competence kink but i got this instead whoops
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> team cap stans pls dont read i dont feel like moderating it but i wiLL

Bucky had always been fascinated by puzzles. 

 

As a kid in the Depression, he’d steal newspapers from bins to do the measly crosswords. Under HYDRA, his skills were honed to make him smarter,  _ better _ . Even in the Red Room, he hadn't found anyone better than him, no matter how hard he trained them.

 

He had never found a puzzle he couldn’t solve.

 

Until Tony Stark.

 

Stark had gone up against him in full Winter Soldier mode with nothing but a sonic gauntlet- not even a repulsor!- and held his own. His expert fingers disarmed Bucky and took apart his gun (and wasn’t  _ that  _ a shock; he was very difficult to disarm and Stark had managed in seconds). Stark looked deadly, and it pained Bucky to throw him across the room and move one, but the programming was active and there was nothing he could do but succumb to it.

 

Later, even through the haze that was Siberia, Bucky could recognize and admire Stark’s sheer skill in the Iron Man suit. He walked in it like it was just another outfit, not a 200 pound metal exoskeleton. Even destroyed with grief, Stark  _ danced _ in the suit, each movement streamlined and graceful. Bucky was under no illusions that he and Steve could have actually won the fight. Stark kept his lethal weaponry out of play, opting for low-powered repulsors and hand-to-hand combat. Stark’s suit was poetry in motion, death personified, and there was no way that two soldiers, no matter how super, could stand up to it. Against all odds, Stark had let them walk out, leaving him behind with a broken chest, an arm, and a shield. 

 

(Bucky knew how dangerous Stark could be. He had heard from handlers stories about the Ten Rings, Vanko, AIM, and the Chitauri. He was programmed with directives to kill Stark on sight, if possible. Capturing Stark never ended well, and HYDRA wasn’t willing to risk it even for the man’s genius. People who went up against Stark tended to die screaming. Bucky remembered- and sometimes he thought he was the  _ only  _ one who remembered- that Stark built the first suit in a cave from a box of scraps after months of torture. The only weapon the man really needed to be dangerous was his mind. Bucky ignored how that danger called to him, like to like. Stark was a weapon, too, but he was his own handler.)

 

Sometimes Bucky wished that Stark had killed him in that bunker, rather than passing him to a new handler. Fate was cruel; he escaped HYDRA only to find himself in the hands of a “friend”. Steve really was no better than a handler, some days, telling him to let the  _ witch  _ into his head to clear his triggers. He didn’t use the words, though, so Bucky refused to comply. He went into the ice after one such refusal, the feeling so familiar as to be comforting.

 

Sooner rather than later, though, he was woken with a solution for the triggers in his head. The answer? BARF tech, courtesy of one Tony Stark. Bucky didn’t understand the science (he wasn’t sure anyone but Stark did), but the Wakandan princess, Shuri, swore up and down that it would rid him of his triggers. The problem? Stark was the only one who could operate it, which meant Bucky had to go to the US and live with the man he almost killed. 

 

But Bucky desperately wanted to be free from the trigger words. If the cost was his life, well, at least he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone ever again. Steve was not happy with his decision, to say the least. He tried to stop Bucky from going, tried to get the  _ witch _ to stop Bucky from going, but Shuri helped him escape relatively unscathed. 

 

“Welcome,” was the first thing Stark said when Bucky landed. The man was waiting at the hangar, ostensibly to take Bucky to the Compound. There was no thinly-veiled hostility or outright venom like Bucky had expected in his tone, just polite disinterest.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Stark,” Bucky replied, resisting the urge to grovel and failing. “And I’m so, so sorry. I know I don’t deserve your help, after everything I’ve done-”

 

“I’m going to stop you there,” Stark said, holding up a hand. “You  _ do  _ deserve help. You were HYDRA’s gun and I don’t blame you anymore. Anyone with a brain doesn't blame you. I… It was hard, I’ll admit, to forgive you. Because even if  _ you  _ didn’t do it, your hands killed my mom. But I do. I do forgive you. It isn’t your fault, any of this.  _ I _ actually owe  _ you  _ an apology. In Siberia, I lashed out when I shouldn’t have. I should have taken a step back and thought logically instead of fighting you. So, I’m sorry.” Stark’s air of detachment lessened just a bit, showing Bucky just how raw those wounds still were. Bucky felt a flare of respect for the man; he didn’t know if he could have done the same, felt the same for the man who, inadvertently or not, killed his parents.

 

“You barely fought back,” Bucky said, looking up at Stark. He wanted to make eye contact, but the man was wearing dark sunglasses. “I know what the suit can do. You’re an alpha level threat to HYDRA. The whole organization had standing kill on sight orders for you, you’re that dangerous.”

 

“Huh, who would’ve guessed?” Stark said thoughtfully. “Anyway, let’s get to the Compound. Time’s a-wastin' and I want to see if I can’t get some preliminary readings tonight so I can get your sessions started ASAP.”

 

Bucky didn’t even have time to respond to the blatant subject change before the man was off like a whirlwind, putting him in a car and jetting off to the Compound in armor that came right out of his chest. Bucky was in shock, to say the least. He had half expected Stark to kill him where he stood (it wouldn’t be anything he didn’t deserve). Instead, Stark was sincere about giving him a second chance and apologetic for having a  _ normal human reaction _ to seeing his parents murdered and finding out his teammate had lied to him and used him for years. He spent the whole car ride trying to figure out Stark’s angle, and was just left more confused than before.

 

Stark might end up being the one puzzle he couldn’t solve.

 

\---

 

“You should be all set to go,” Stark said, handing over the glasses. Over the past two weeks, they had taken hundreds of scans and readings for Stark to condense into what looked like an unassuming pair of glasses. “I estimate two to six months of BARF sessions to remove the triggers, in conjunction with extensive therapy.”

 

“I really hate the name,” Bucky said, trying for a joke. He wasn’t sure where he stood with Stark, but everyone appreciated humor, right?

 

Stark cracked a wry smile. “You and every other stuffy PhD,” he shot back with the wit that Bucky knew from Steve and the others’ stories, only, with less malice. “Only reason I don’t change it is because I relish in their faces when they’re forced to say it.” Even Bucky couldn’t hold back a smile at Stark’s smug delivery. “Now, come on. You have a date with the Hulk Room and a pair of fancy glasses.”

 

Bucky swallowed, uncharacteristically nervous. “What’s going to happen?” he asked as Stark led him to a glass room.

 

“Well, BARF is going to project a memory for you,” he explained, sticking to layman’s terms. “And your brain will work through it until it dissociates, and, in the case of the trigger words, doesn’t control you anymore. I’m not going to lie, it isn’t a fun process.” Stark looked sympathetic. “But it’s helpful. HYDRA won’t be able to control you ever again. But it’s also entirely your choice. You’ve had enough of people fucking with your head. So, nothing here happens without your explicit consent, which you can revoke at any time.”

 

“Thanks,” Bucky’s throat felt tight. “I’ll do it. I want to do it.”

 

“Don’t thank me for human decency, Barnes,” Stark brushed off his gratitude like it was nothing ( _ or,  _ the Winter Soldier whispered in his head,  _ like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it _ ). “Come sit; the program can make you dizzy and we don’t want you falling.”

 

Bucky sat on the stool ( _ nothing like HYDRA’s chair, did he do that on purpose? _ ) and slid on the glasses. The room flashed blue before he was thrown into a memory. It was an early one, before he was fully the Winter Soldier. He recognized it as the beginning of his conditioning with the code words. He tried not to scream as he watched the lab techs circle him like sharks, cut him, shout at him.

 

After what felt like years, the memory shut down. 

 

“Good job,” Stark said, checking over his vitals on one of his holographic screens. “You made some good progress today. How are you feeling?”

 

Stark sounded so  _ genuine  _ that it scared Bucky for a minute. His throat tightened against his will, tears springing to his eyes. “Shitty,” he admitted, taking a deep breath. “Memories fucking suck.”

 

Stark didn’t call him out on his language like Steve would’ve, or force him to explain, or push at all. Bucky found himself grateful for the change of pace. “Amen,” the man said instead. “Want to blow this popsicle stand? I’m craving ice cream.”

 

Bucky stared in shock. “Like… outside?” he asked.

 

“If you want to,” Stark shrugged. “We have ice cream in the freezer, too, but I figured you’d want a change of scenery.”

 

“Can we?” Bucky tried not to sound desperate. Steve didn’t let him go outside much in Wakanda before he went back into cryo. He wanted to see the world, to see what he’d missed. But he’d settle for ice cream, to start.

 

“Of course,” Stark said, almost gently. “Give me twenty minutes to shut this down and we can leave.”

 

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was standing in the garage next to Stark, who was looking at him expectantly. 

 

“Go on,” Stark urged, gesturing to the cars. “You can pick one.”

 

_ A choice _ . Steve hadn’t given him many, HYDRA gave him none, but here was Stark, offering him one like it was nothing. Maybe it was, maybe it really didn’t matter what car he chose. But he wanted it to. Hesitantly, he reached towards one of the older cars, one he recognized from his hazy memories of the 40’s.

 

“This one,” he said, keeping the shaking out of his voice.

 

Stark hopped into the driver’s seat. “Good choice,” he said, revving the engine. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Stark drove too fast, didn’t even put on his seatbelt, courting death with every turn. It made Bucky sad to see the reckless abandon of a man who thought he had nothing left to lose. Bucky recognized it in himself, making it so much worse to see in Stark. Bucky remembered footage he watched of Stark before coming to the Compound, battles where the man won almost suicidal victories. A long buried protective instinct flared in his chest when he looked at the man driving carelessly and he swore to listen to it.

 

They drove for half an hour, eventually pulling into the parking lot of a small ice cream parlor off the main road. Stark noticed Bucky’s anxiety at the unfamiliar setting and made a hand gesture.

 

“Here,” he said, pulling up a hologram out of nowhere. “A detailed background check on the two employee in today. There aren’t any other customers, either. It’s perfectly safe. I have the suit, so nothing will happen to you, I promise. You’re more than capable of defending yourself, too, obviously. But if you’re not okay, we can go back home.”

 

Bucky read the screen, seeing no red flags, nothing that reminded him of HYDRA. His gut told him he was safe. “Okay,” he said finally, getting out of the car.

 

Stark smiled, a real smile that changed his face completely. “I’m craving cookies and cream,” he said, like he wasn’t bringing the world’s most prolific assassin to an ice cream parlor.

 

“I’m more of a vanilla guy myself,” Bucky admitted.

 

Stark snorted. “That’s because flavors weren’t invented in the 40’s.” He pushed open the door, the little bell ringing loudly in the quiet shop.

 

“Hey, Mr. Stark!” a boy at the counter grinned. His nametag read Peter, and his voice sounded familiar to Bucky. It sounded almost like...  “What can I get you today?”

 

“Cookies and cream for me,” Stark said. “Barnes here might need a minute.” Indeed, Bucky was gaping at the selection of flavors. There were the normal chocolate and vanilla, but there were also weird ones that he couldn’t imagine what they tasted like. 

 

“Do people really eat banana ice cream?” he grimaced. “Bananas taste terrible nowadays.”

 

“That’s because of the banana plague!” Peter sounded very excited. “In the 50’s and 60’s, there was a fungal plague that literally made bananas go extinct, so a new type of banana was cultivated by some English guy…” Peter trailed off sheepishly. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes, you are,” Stark said, sounding amused. He reached over the counter to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Barnes, you make a decision yet?”

 

Bucky swallowed. “Uh, plum?” he said hesitantly. 

 

“I’m more of a blueberry guy myself,” replied Stark. “But to each his own. Pete, one plum cone?”

 

“Coming right up,” Peter said, springing into action. When he was done, he handed them both their cones. Bucky was surprised that Stark took it without a word; the man hadn’t accepted anything from Bucky, saying that he didn’t like being handed things. Bucky figured it was a trust thing (his enhanced eyes picked out the faded scars from a skin graft on Stark’s palms).

 

“Thanks, Pete,” Stark said. “Come by the Compound at some point, I have something for you.”

 

“Mr. Stark!” Peter turned red with a glance at Bucky. Stark caught onto his train of thought, evidently, and rolled his eyes.

 

“Winter Soldier, Peter,” he deadpanned. “And don’t forget you turned down the voice modifier.” Peter, if possible, looked more embarrassed.

 

“You’re Spider Man,” Bucky said, and it wasn’t a question.

 

Peter drooped. “I hate spies,” he complained. “It’s impossible to keep a secret identity these days!”

 

“I was an assassin, actually.”

 

Stark choked on a laugh. “He’s got you there, Underoos.”

 

“Whatever,” Peter scowled. “I’ll swing by tomorrow.”

 

“Swing, like from a web?” Bucky asked, a genuine smile creeping its way across his face. 

 

Stark’s laughter echoed as they left the small shop. 

 

\---

 

After the ice cream shop, Bucky noticed that things changed between him and Stark. The man smiled more around him and they were real smiles, not the painfully fake press smiles. They weren’t friends, exactly, but they weren’t hostile. True to his word, Stark seemed to have forgiven him completely. And he was there for every BARF session, the good and the bad. 

 

Bucky didn’t know why, especially after a particularly bad session.

 

“How was it?” Stark asked, shutting off the sim.

 

“How the fuck do you think, Stark?” Bucky snarled, baring his teeth. “I have to relive my goddman torture every fuckin’ day for your goddamn amusement! You’re sick, you’re probably enjoying this, watching your parents’ killer suffer.”

 

Stark didn’t even flinch. “Trust me, I’m not enjoying this,” he said, iron in his voice.

 

“Then why the fuck are you making me do it?” he challenged. “I was  _ fine _ . I didn’t need your fucking help!”

 

“You asked for help,” Stark replied, looking unruffled. His mask was good enough that Bucky couldn’t see if his cruel words had any impact at all. “You asked, I offered, you accepted.”

 

“Well, I changed my mind,” growled Bucky. “I’m done with this. Fuck this, fuck you, just…  _ fuck! _ ” He punched the wall, missing the metal arm. His flesh arm barely made a dent in the reinforced wall.

 

“Okay,” Stark said pleasantly. “I won’t force you. It’s possible you’re in the clear, anyway. There’s about a 13% chance that at least one word in your sequence has been disassociated. I’m not sure what would happen if someone tried your control words now. They might work, they might not.”

 

“Why are you cavalier about this?” Bucky was irritated by Stark’s nonchalance. He should be shouting, he should be screaming. Why wasn’t he? When he asked as much of Stark, the man just arched a casual eyebrow.

 

“Do you want me to?” he asked. Bucky didn’t know what to respond with, but the man kept pushing. “Do you want me to be hurt? Do you want me to hurt you back? What do you want, Barnes?”

 

“I don’t know!” All of the fight went out of Bucky in one long exhale and he collapsed to the ground. “I want… I don’t know. I…”

 

“That’s fine,” Stark said gently. “Let’s start simple. Do you want to be inside or outside?”

 

Bucky considered it for a moment. On the one hand, outside was sunlight and fresh air, but there was less security, anyone could be anywhere. “Inside,” he decided. 

 

“Company or alone?”

 

“Company?” It was hard to speak around the lump in his throat. He figured Stark wouldn’t want to be around him, not after this. 

 

“Am I okay?” Stark looked genuinely concerned. “If not, I can get Rogers on the phone. Maybe. No promises on that one. I don’t think-”

 

“You’re fine,” Bucky interrupted with a grateful smile, albeit shaky. 

 

Stark let out a breath. “Good, because I seriously doubt my ability to make Rogers listen,” he said ruefully. “Anyway. Preferences on a place? We can do the sitting room, kitchen, even the lab if you’re up for it.”

 

Bucky had been in Stark’s lab once, for the initial BARF scans. It was gorgeous, filled with enough glowing blue holograms to make it look like a small galaxy. He had loved it, loved the future it represented and the man who spearheaded it. “The lab?” he said hopefully.

 

Stark smiled a little bit. “Sure thing, Barnes.” He reached a hand down to help Bucky up.

 

“Bucky,” he said, taking Stark’s hand. “Call me Bucky.”

 

“Call me Tony, then,” Stark- no,  _ Tony _ \- replied, smile a little wider. 

 

He followed Tony to the lab, the man chattering on about nothing in a way that Bucky found soothing. The walk was longer than usual because Tony led them down the stairs instead of an elevator. He seemed to sense that Bucky didn’t want to be in an enclosed space right then. Bucky’s chest filled with some unidentifiable emotion when he looked at Tony, something warm and soft. 

 

Along the way, Tony had gotten into an argument with his AI, FRIDAY.

 

“Boss, that’s not a good idea,” FRIDAY said with a long suffering tone. “You’ve done it. Several times. And Ms. Potts has threatened you with murder should you do it again.”

 

“He deserves it,” Tony defended. “It’s only fair that he get a flamethrower if DUM-E gets a fire extinguisher. Otherwise, it’s favoritism.”

 

“No, Boss, it’s pragmatism. Butterfingers will light your lab on fire.”

 

“DUM-E is on fire safety for a reason, baby girl.”

 

“DUM-E?” Bucky asked, catching the tail end of what sounded like a long and repetitive argument.

 

“Rudimentary AI, if AI stood for  _ artificial idiot _ ,” Tony explained witha fond grin. “He’s my first, I built him way back in MIT. His code was created when I was high, drunk, or both, so it’s very buggy. Hence, DUM-E. Ah, here he is now.”

 

An arm on wheels rolled up to them, cheeping curiously. He wore a dunce cap on top of his claw, which clicked happily at the sight of Tony. 

 

“Hello,” Bucky greeted. The arm wheeled to face him. It chirped, then held out its claw in an approximation of a handshake, which Bucky took with the utmost gravity. He was gentle, not wanting to accidentally crush the claw with his strength. 

 

“He likes you,” Tony translated the string of beeps and whirrs effortlessly. The bot sped off to a corner-and was that a blender?- to make something. “Whatever he gives you, don’t drink it.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“He’s prone to trying to poison people he likes,” Tony replied nonchalantly. “Gives me motor oil all the damn time. Then he gets all sad when I don’t drink it.”

 

“I’m sure he’s doing his best,” Bucky said, accepting the smoothie from the robot. He patted its claw and it preened like a particularly satisfied cat. “Aren’t you, DUM-E?”

 

“I’m shipping you both off to a community college,” Tony swore. “Really, Bucky, you betray me like this in my own lab? I’m wounded.”

 

“C’mon, doll, you know I don’t mean it,” Bucky said automatically. He cursed when Tony froze up, a blush lighting his cheeks. “Um, I mean…”

 

“There’s a sofa, there in the corner,” said Tony awkwardly, clearly trying to get rid of his blush. “DUM-E likes to play fetch. I’m going to… um… lab. Inventions.”

 

Tony pulled up a set of holograms and threw himself into work. Bucky pointedly did not think about how flustered Tony was adorable as he tossed the ball for DUM-E. Tossing the ball eased some of his earlier cocktail of fear and anger that had been bubbling underneath his skin. DUM-E was like a dog, and remarkably expressive for an arm on wheels. Tony’s work cast him in an electric blue light, the same color as the arc reactor in his chest. Bucky wondered if that was conscious. He couldn’t help but to find the wash of blue soothing, lulling him into a sense of safety and  _ warmth  _ he hadn't felt since HYDRA. 

 

As he watched Tony grin at him, his own grin sliding on his face with ease, Bucky figured he could get used to that warmth.

 

\---

 

“I’m going to build you an arm,” Tony announced, striding into the lab with a renewed purpose. Bucky knew he had been in Accords meetings all day. There were talks of pardons for the Rogues, which Bucky knew drained Tony like nothing else. Bucky couldn’t help but to agree; his time away had given him a lot of perspective and new data on exactly who those people were. 

 

“Not that I don’t appreciate that, doll,” Bucky said carefully. “But what brought this on?”

 

“The Council was debating in circles, so I zoned out,” Tony explained, using his hands in wide, sweeping gestures that terrified Bucky into thinking the man would knock something over. It had happened before, and DUM-E had gotten a good use of his beloved fire extinguisher. “I sketched an arm. My subconscious is telling me something and i intend to listen.”

 

“Your subconscious has been telling you to sleep for three days,” Bucky chided, looking meaningfully at the coffee mugs scattered everywhere.

 

Tony blinked. “My subconscious is a traitor that should not be trusted,” he said without missing a beat. “But it isn’t wrong. You overcompensate on your left side when you walk because you’re used to the weight. It’s going to mess with your spine and all that squishy stuff.”

 

“First of all, I’m not  _ squishy _ ,” Bucky mock-glared at the engineer. “Second, I have the serum, remember? Healing factor and all that jazz?”

 

Tony deflated a tiny bit. “Do you not want an arm?” he asked kindly, if a little subdued.

 

“I do,” Bucky reassured him. “It’s just… do you want to give me one?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?”

 

“I know you said you forgave me, but-”

 

“Nope,” Tony cut him off. “I do forgive you. If you want an arm, you’re getting an arm. I’ve literally been planning one since you got here, I just didn’t know how you’d take it.” He walked over to his workspace, tossing up a projection of a metal arm. It was annotated with notes Bucky couldn’t decipher, but it was an arm. One that looked like it was designed with care and attention, maybe even a touch of fondness. On the shoulder was his signature red star, next to an engraving that read  _ Stark Industries  _ on one of the plates.

 

Bucky was hopelessly charmed.

 

“Yes, please,” he said, eyes fixated on the glowing model. 

 

Tony chuckled. “Good, otherwise all that work would be wasted,” he smiled. “Well, not  _ wasted _ , per se. Really, I used all of the knowledge from studying up on biology to launch that field forward a decade or two, and these prosthetics should help vets and other amputees. So, really, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you didn’t want it, but I’d be sad… I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

 

“Yes,” Bucky couldn’t help his own smile in response. “It’s cute, though.”

 

Tony blushed a deep red, hiding himself behind the schematics. “I am not cute,” he grumbled. “I am chaos and darkness.”

 

“Sure thing, kotyonok.”

 

“I am not a kitten!”

 

\---

 

Exactly four months and twelve days after Bucky arrived in the US, Tony declared his code words null and void.

 

“So,” Tony asked, rocking on his heels almost nervously. “What are you going to do with your newfound freedom?”

 

Bucky shrugged. The prospect of being free was scarier than being HYDRA’s monster, in a way. His head was his own, though, which he could never thank Tony for enough. “I don’t know my options,” he admitted.

 

Tony smiled, but it was a press smile, see through if you knew where to look. “Well, there’s a couple,” he said, listing them off on his fingers. “You can go back to Wakanda and Rogers. He hasn’t called since the beginning, but I know he wants you back. You can leave, make a new life for yourself, if you want. SI and I can set you up with funds and a new identity and ensure the government stays off your back. Most of Europe isn’t on your side right now, but that should change in the near future. I’ve been neglecting my UN meetings, but once I get back in the game, they’ll be falling over themselves to apologize.” He swallowed. “You can also stay here, at the Compound,” he said finally. 

 

“Which do  _ you  _ want?” Bucky challenged, though he had already made up his mind. He and Tony had been locked in their dance for too long for him to leave now, not when he was so close to the end. Plus, he’d miss Tony like a limb (and not his metal one). 

 

Tony’s eyes hardened a little bit, not in anger, but conviction. “That doesn’t matter,” he said. “This is your choice, Bucky, not mine. This is about your life and your comfort. What I want doesn’t matter here.”

 

“I want to stay,” Bucky said, smiling. “I want to stay here with the bots, with your spiderling, with FRIDAY, and with  _ you _ . I want to be with you, Tony.”

 

Tony groaned softly. “If I’m reading this wrong, stab me or something,” he whispered, leaning in. Despite his warning, he watched Bucky for any sign of discomfort, moving slowly so Bucky could move away if he wanted. 

 

He didn’t want to, though. Instead of waiting, he surged forward, catching Tony in a kiss. It said everything he couldn’t find the words for;  _ thank you _ s for putting him back together,  _ I’m sorry _ s for every outburst and lapse of control,  _ you’re wonderful  _ and every other affirmation he hadn’t said.

 

“Wow,” Tony breathed, pulling away for breath. “That was…”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky leaned in for another kiss, gentler this time. 

 

“Stay with me?” Tony sounded unusually vulnerable, eyes wide and blown. He looked young, uncertain, an expression so out of place on him that it took Bucky longer to identify than it should’ve.

 

It didn’t matter that he’d already agreed; he’d say it as long as Tony wanted him around. “Of course,” he said, resting his forehead against Tony’s. They breathed together, in their separate bubble of world free from the outside, if only for a moment. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> how was it?
> 
> comments and kudos make me happy


End file.
